Los Lobos
by GothLoli
Summary: She's unbearably close to him. She's a person and she's here, near him. It's a novelty to find someone around him and he's surprised. He's almost scared, too. She's on her hands and knees. Her head is bowed and he knows exactly what this looks like. He's sure it's what it looks like.


_Alone._

_So very alone. As far back as he can remember, there was an overwhelming sense of solitude._

_He didn't want it anymore. He didn't want to be alone._

(xxx)

"Stark! STARK!"

He nearly pukes yesterdays dinner out of his mouth. In a second his up and gagging, trying to get some decent air in. It takes him a good two minutes to accomplish this.

"What the hell's the matter with you?!" he glares at the figure before him.

Little girl with short, greenish-blonde hair and piercing pink eyes. She just kicked him in the gut. Kicked. Not punched, he can tell the difference by now. Little devil that barely wears enough clothes to cover herself up. All she has on his a tank-top and panties. Panties. He can't even say that it's her form of pajamas, this is what she wears for lounging around the apartment.

"What the hell's wrong with ME?!_**ME**_?!" She glares at him right back, full on growling and baring her teeth like a wild and hungry wolf, "It's 11 in the morning you lazy jackass!"

He groans and falls back on the lounge chair. He suddenly feels a thousand times more tired and the weight of air is beating down on him.

"HEY!" she keeps yelling, probably flailing her arms every which way while she's at it, "Don't ignore me! I SAID IT'S 11 IN THE FREAKING MORNING!"

"Lilinette…" he grumbles, hiding his face beneath his hand, "Shut up…"

"_**HUH**_?!"

He groans again as she starts kicking him repeatedly in the ribs, a series of profanity coming from her mouth.

"DON'T YOU DARE _'SHUT UP' _ME! YOU MISSED BREAKFAST YOU BASTARD! GET YOURSELF TO WORK YOU LAZY BUM!"

He had enough. With one quick movement he's sitting upright again and he catches her foot with his hand before she can inflict anymore damage. He gives her a serious look and she returns it with a full-on rage face and he swears that she looks puffier and more diabolical than usual.

"You act like you care so much about me missing breakfast…" he says in a deadpan sort of way, pushing her foot back and away from him, "you look like you just got up yourself…"

Her eyes flair up and she takes a deep breath before yelling back at the top of her lungs, "That's different! I don't have a job to be at, you're the one who brings the bacon around here, buddy!"

He sighs and swears a little under his breath. Looking up at the clock he finds out that she's not lying to him, it's really that late.

"…I could still have brunch if I really wanted to."

"FUCK YOUR BREAKFAST! GET TO WORK ALREADY! HAVE SOME FREAKING PRIDE IN YOUR _POSITION_!"

(xxx)

_He's panting._

_In and out and in and out and there's never enough air in his lungs to help him. He can't remember. He can't remember no matter what he does and it's probably the acid or the ecstasy or whatever they call it. Everything becomes hazy and it's like he was torn apart. The sweat pouring down his body could be the result of the heat, or perhaps the strain. He can't even recall where he is. Does he know this place? Does he know the people in this place? There are no people here. Again. There never seems to be people around him._

_He's naked. But somehow he's found a sheet to cover his important areas._

_She's naked._

_Right in front of him._

_She's unbearably close to him. She's a __**person**__ and she's __**here**__, near him. It's a novelty to find someone around him and he's surprised. He's almost scared, too. She's on her hands and knees. Her head is bowed and he knows exactly what this looks like. He's sure it's what it looks like. That's not what scares him. What scares him is the thought of her being just a figment of his imagination._

_She's panting._

_He notices they're both breathing at the same time._

_In and out and in and out and…_

(xxx)

Stark parked his car in the shaded area of the lot, where a gold plate had his name on it in big bold letters. He owned a corvette. A fiery shade of blue. Not necessarily because he had wanted to own a corvette, or any other fancy sports car for that matter. Lilinette had insisted on him owning something that outwardly portrayed his rank, and after that she had further insisted on doing a complete paint job on it. He humored her, because really, there was no winning with her otherwise.

He had passed the security gate with practiced ease, barely even thinking when he had flashed his ID card to the security guard. Rudbornn had been annoying pleasant as always. At the moment Stark was staring up through his window at the skyscraper that was his workplace. A building whose size could only be described as a flippant middle-finger to Babylon in an effort to rub the ego of the person who sat on top of the thing.

Contemplative but growing weary of the silence of his car, Stark drummed his fingers on the wheel and glanced at the empty seat beside him.

He had dropped Lilinette off at school only a few minutes ago, despite her blatant protests and physical rebuttals of his decision. He figured if he was late to work but still had to go, she could be late for school and do the same. Lilinette was never one to agree with him, so throughout the ride she had been yelling at the top of her lungs while changing the channels on the radio to anything loud she could find. It was even worse when they finally got there, as he practically had to kick her out the door, only to have her swear bloody murder at him before storming off.

He could say a lot about being annoyed and deliberately at his wits end with her, but the reality was different. He could have just left her back at their apartment, but the ride would have been painfully quiet.

Silence didn't set well with Stark. It sent him places he didn't want to be. Lilinette was loud and abrasive and there could never be a moments silence with her. That's why he decide to bask in the bliss of her cussing and complaining before going the other half of the trip in agonizing mute. He'd never admit it but he also never had to.

Stark opened the door and let himself out, locking his car whilst muttering a catchy song Lilinette had talked him into singing with her last night.

Walking to the complex was easy enough, as he had done it a hundred time already. His mind wandered as he passed the glass door and strode by the lobby receptionist (Cirucci was pissed to see him, but she was pissed at everyone, so…) he wasn't thinking about anything particular, just enough to keep him occupied once he finally made it into the elevator door. Once he punched his button in, a short ride later he was at his floor.

He stepped out feeling particularly proud of himself.

"Board meeting in Room A," without even looking at him, Menoly Mallia strode passed him and into the elevator as she tinkered with her ipad.

Stark mentally groaned.

Had Loly been around, she would have given him hell about the attitude present on his face, but Menoly was the kind of person who got her message across and moved on, little caring about the dread it provoked in others.

His shoulders slumped in annoyance, he turned and re-entered the elevator.

(xxx)

_It feels like the first day. He just started existing. They just starting existing._

_Maybe he's the original protagonist of the story. Or maybe she was the original._

_A runaway naively searching for adventure? Is he just the guy who fell into a bad crowd?_

_Maybe neither of them were._

_But they became._

(xxx)

Board meetings were the farthest thing from okay in Stark's book. In fact, they made him even more sluggish than usual.

For one, he had to actually look at his fellow "board members" and breathe their same air in the confines of a room. For two, he had to sit around listening to the long list of things Aizen had to say, and since the bossman didn't care for opinions, it was really a big lecture he could care less about. As far as Stark was concerned, all he ever had to do was say "yes" to what Aizen told him to do and things were golden.

But some people liked to pretend that these "board meetings" were actually worth something.

Stark entered the room which housed a ridiculously long board table. He stared at it with a frown and clenched at the doorknob he had turned. Zommari had come in almost at the same time and they subconsciously acknowledged the others existence. Without a word he proceeded to his chair and half -slept as he leaned on the table, waiting for the others to come in.

Sure enough they did. Although Stark had already been asleep for three minutes before realizing it.

The star of the show came in soon after with all the certainty of the world. The world was his oyster, and quiet frankly Stark had to agree with the likelihood of this not being just a metaphor when it came to Sosuke Aizen, business tycoon and multi-billionaire.

Stark off-handedly observed him and noted that, like countless other times, Aizen appeared unconcerned with a smile on his face and neatly gelled hair. As always, he came with his posse. His right hand, Gin Ichimaru with an even bigger smile and cocksure attitude, and his left, Kaname Tosen who made it his business to keep everyone in line.

"Hello everyone," Aizen took his seat at the front of table, casually taking hold of the porcelain cup that was placed in his area before hand, "it's a pleasure to see you all again."

Stark instinctively zoned out from there.

He's heard it all before, and even if Aizen did end up saying something different he'd probably catch on to it before completely missing out.

As the meeting drawled forward, Stark's eyes moved across the table to his co-workers. Some where rapt with attention while others pretended to be awake, and then there the guys who were more open about not given two cents about this.

Stark's eyes shifted toward Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, who had his boots hoisted up on the table while also shifted his weight between the back legs of his chair.

If there was anyone who didn't belong in a board room, you could bet it was Grimmjow. He looked like he came straight out of a back alley, which he probably did. Stark noted the kids printed T-shirt and blue jeans and grimaced. How come _he_ could come looking like it was casual Friday?

Stark tugged at the collar of his wrinkled white shirt in annoyance. Lilinette, as always, made a big air about his "rank" and always had him dressed up in a half-baked suit. She never pressed them or kept them tidy. Hell no, not Lilinette Gingerback, she wasn't a maid. She just reached inside a hamper or wherever else she could and threw a jacket, white button-shirt, and slacks at him and figured he was done. As long as he had business clothes on him, he was ready and presentable. No black tie or anything, but it still bugged the crap out of him to bother with a suit. At least he could pick his boots.

Grimmjow wasn't your regular "board member". Azien had less than "legal" departments in his company and Jaegerjaquez so happened to control the street gang portion of that. Stark imaged that Grimmjow's usual gang of followers was waiting for him just outside the meeting room. They weren't pleasant and the idea made him grimace all the more. Still, the kid had an actual seat in this messed up show, despite his rash behavior and lack of team player moral.

Nnoitra Gilga wasn't any higher on Stark's list. The guy was a psychopath and considering how Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck had suddenly disappeared before he took her seat, Stark wouldn't trust him with a stray dog.

Stark tuned back into the meeting and found Aizen wrapping up his discourse.

Apparently they where already in the part of the meeting where everyone talks about what they've been doing. Stark started making something up in his head, just so he could have something to say because in all honestly he couldn't remember a thing that seemed important to report.

Aizen started off with the check list and addressed Aaroniero Arruruerie. Having come out of surgery and rehabilitation a few weeks ago, naturally he didn't have much to say. Stark felt bad about the bandages still wrapped around his face.

"Ulquiorra, do you have anything to report?"

Stark's musing were cut short and now he looked at the youngest member of the board.

"Everything is going smoothly, there are no abnormalities to report," emotionless as ever, he answered Aizen while producing a folder full of figures.

Ulquiorra Cifer was one of the guys who actually cared about these things. Stark knew him to be a University graduate with the highest marks and he always had something to present.

"Excellent. Harribel?"

"Increase in activity, all in favor of the company and figures are promising," she answered him.

Tier Harribel, being the only woman on the board, made it her mission in life to excel past everyone else. Stark didn't have a particular liking to her, as she was just below Ulquiorra in wanting to please Aizen in any way she could. One thing is to have a good work ethic, another thing is to do so for the sole purpose of licking someone's boots.

Stark can admit to owing Aizen, but he wasn't lavishing the floor he walked on.

"Baraggan?"

Stark flinched.

Just across from him was Baraggan Louisenbairn. He had been with the company longer than anyone can really remember. Grapevine gossip says it was his company originally, or that his smaller company was bought out by Aizen, but there isn't any proof of either. Still, Stark knows there's always some truth to rumors and that means that Baraggan had more baggage than anyone when it came to this company and everything that had to do with it.

"Flawless with nothing to report."

Baraggan didn't give a damn about pleasing Aizen. If things were going flawlessly it was only because Baraggan wanted it to go flawlessly.

Stark had mixed feelings regarding Baraggan. He had been here for years. Years and years and it showed in every wrinkle of his face. Stark can't remember a day where he had seen him smile. He figures that with all the countless contract deals and corporate takeovers, Baraggan simply can't smile anymore. Smiling is for the weak, not seasoned businessmen.

Baraggan has ink in his veins and paper for skin. And Stark…

When Stark first came into this company he saw Baraggan. He noticed his dry face and dry lips, but when that old man spoke it didn't seem like his tongue ever needed water. Because he's negotiated to much. He'd seen to much in his long, long life to get a dry mouth when talking about auditing season and tax returns.

Aizen has a certain gleam in his eyes when he talks to people. Like he knows, in his grand scheme of things, exactly what he wants to do with each and every person, and how each and every one of them is going to end up. Stark saw that gleam when Aizen stood up that day and introduced him to the rest of the board.

Him, Coyote Stark. With his wrinkled white-collar shirt and half-assed suit-jacket.

It was his first day on the job and Aizen made him Number 1.

And Stark noticed Baraggan's face. He didn't flinch, he lived to long to do that, but Stark saw the smallest change. In the face filled with wrinkles that gravity pushed down to fold in weird places, in the face with dark splotches and emotionless bumps and creases, Stark saw it in Baraggan's eyes. He saw it in his eyes and he knew that Barragan had been here too long with too little to show for it. He knew Aizen did it on purpose, just to spite this old, old man with nothing to live for and a second seat for all his efforts. Stark knew right away that Baraggan hated Aizen and that Aizen loved that he hated him. So he gets Stark, with fresh legs and a shit-faced idea of what he's supposed to do, and makes him first seat and rubs it in the face of the guys with ink in his veins and paper for skin.

Stark feels sorry for him. He's felt sorry since day one and it's a little weird that he does. Baraggan would hate it if he knew but Stark can't help but look at him see a sad little man full of hatred.

He told Lilinette about it. She told him he was acting like a bitch for caring. Aizen made HIM the Primera Espada, not Baraggan, it didn't matter how long he'd been there before, he never got higher than second place and Stark got first in a day, like hell if that didn't mean something. Like hell if that didn't say something about how good he was.

All Stark could say in return was when the hell did she learn about Italian bull fighting?

She hit him in the face.

So Stark swallows down his sympathy, notes that Louisenbairn can do without it, and forgets on most days that he feels for the guy that was old enough to be his grandfather.

"Stark."

His eyes go toward Aizen, who's smiling and gleamin in his eyes.

"Do you have anything to report?"

Stark forgot what he had made up earlier, so he shrugs and closes his eyes again.

"Excellent."

(xxx)

_Do you…have a name?_

_Lilinette. Do you have a name?_

_Stark._

(xxx)

Espada Corp is built on blood and sharp swords in the form of words.

After the meeting, Stark feels ready to take a nap. He walks across the floor toward the elevator and in a second he's flying past levels filled with typing men and women with too-high heels. He rides until he is so high up that the atmosphere is a little thinner.

It's his floor. Way up high in the skyscraper, above ID cards with three digits and two digits.

It's not a very loud floor. Stark likes it that way. Even though he hates silence, a room filled with people who he'll never get to properly know isn't something he likes either.

Half an hour later Stark looks at his computer monitor in the privacy of his office and grimaces. Even though Stark can openly admit to being little more than a lazy ass, every once in a while he gets the notion to actually do his job. Maybe it was a guilt-trip sort of deal, but his outmost efforts were to at least look over certain transactions and see if he cares enough to give it an 'okay'.

The current mess of numbers and long words in his desktop makes him regret this decision, and he openly wonders why the hell he doesn't have a secretary to do this.

"Like I'd even go through with hiring one…" he mutters darkly to himself, clicking absently at certain points of the document and typing in little comments he'll send to someone else to figure out.

Just thinking about going through the long process of admission gives him chills. Not to mention the interviews he'd be doing. A guy like him doesn't exactly have prerequisites for judging people, and like hell he even knows what it is he's looking for in an assistant.

Nope. It's just not his style.

He's not anybodies boss, he doesn't want to be. The idea of someone relying on him makes him uneasy so he doesn't have direct subordinates. Anyone found in his floor doesn't exactly work for him, they're doing things on behalf of other people.

Still, he wonders about how easy it would be to dump this junk on someone else for a change. Even Nnoitra had someone, Tesra Lindocruz, who was annoying loyal to him. The kid practically did all the work and Nnoitra just slapped his name on it.

Harribel had a similar thing going for her. As an empowered nod to every feminist party in the nation, her team was all female. Emilou Apacci and Franceska Mila Rose were in the habit of fighting with each other for the right of being Harribel's bodygaurd. Not that she needed a bodyguard, as he clearly remembered how she punched someone in the eye in an office party a while back. Cyan Sung-Sun was often the mediator between the two, and being the secretary she also managed herself well. She was soft spoken, and from the times Stark had interacted with her, she was also smart enough to pull her job off.

Baraggan, despite being a workaholic, had a team of his own. They mostly worked for themselves and only to please the older man. In Stark's opinion, his personal posse of six was a bit excessive. They were bloodthirsty and usually went about screwing everyone over for their own ends. They even hated each other, battling it out to be the one Baraggan liked best.

Still, he guessed he shouldn't judge. Szayelaporro Granz headed the Research and Development department and had over a dozen people running around his office floor, not to mention the amount of others that worked in his labs.

No, absolute loyalty or gallant ass-kissing didn't appeal to Stark in any way.

"Ah, Jesus, I should just forget it…" Stark pushed off his desk and folded both his arms behind his head. He leaned into his chair and glared at the ceiling.

His thoughts were wandering again. He wouldn't get anything done this way so he might as well drop it.

Successfully giving up, his eyes went over the various nicks and nacks covering his desk. It was amazingly cluttered with folders and receipts, not to mention a bunch of other useless stuff like take-out menus and toys he brought to entertain himself. Rubber balls seemed to fascinate him, but the take-out was largely Lilinette's fault. She would constantly complain about being hungry, and since Stark always found that he was hungry too, they would gorge themselves in fast food.

_We really need to learn how to cook…_ He thought, feeling to lazy to even try it already.

Suddenly, his eyes sought the only framed picture on his desk amongst the clutter. It was of him and Lilinette at the last company Halloween party.

It had been a collaborate effort, and largely brought to fruition by Charlotte Chulhourne's eye for artistic design. That year the whole board and their subordinates had dressed up in a theme. They had become skeleton-like human beings, more human of course than skeleton, but it was still noticeable. It was a strange concept, but it was classy. Everyone seemed to have an original take on the costume, some put on elaborate make-up, among other forms of personalization.

In the picture, he and Lilinette were posing. She was smiling, giving a peace sign to the camera while pulling Stark down to pose with her, which only ended with him looking miserably at the camera.

Stark looked like some gun slinging cowboy with the little tuffles of fur on his shoulders, belt, wrists and boots. On his chest was painted some random black circle ("The hollow spot were your heart once was," had been Lilinette's explanation). As if that hadn't been ridiculous enough, Lilinette had also coaxed him into wearing some chained eye patch, it was cool as hell, but he couldn't help feeling self conscious.

What he was really looking at was Lilinette, though. Her costume had been more extravagant by far. Her helmet covered one of her eyes, and there was a horn sticking out and another one that was broken. She even went the extra mile and painted flames on the part of her eye that was covered. It was amazing innovated on her part.

Innovative or not, the rest of her costume was either lazy or purposely done to provoke a reaction. She was practically in her underwear, with a vest covering her breast but she was essentially naked. Her arm-warmers and boots did most of the covering of her body, but it wasn't a lot. She had a black circle on her stomach.

Stark noted to himself that if Lilinette had had parents they would've gone berserk with justified rage and broken hell on everybody, especially her.

Stark wasn't that person, and the most her costume got out of him was a dull surprise that was quelled because, well, she was Lilinette and she did crazy things like this all the time.

He did, however, remember the few wandering eyes at the party that night. It ticked him off only a little, because there were a ton of other scantly-clad women around, so why the hell did they bother looking at her? Yet, Lilinette had stayed close to him for the duration, willingly (and he was surprised at that), so no one came near her. He half-smiled at remembering that.

He didn't hit anybody.

He would've, but that doesn't matter.

Stark sighed deeply, feeling tired now more than ever. He figured he could hide in his office and catch some shut eye without someone sticking her hand down his throat.

Stark faintly smiles at the memory of Lilinette. A peaceful sleep would be nice.

"Staaaaaaaark! STARK!"

He had only closed his eyes for one second and now he was hearing apparitions.

"Stark!"

Lilinette opened the door to his office (slammed it open, actually), as if to prove to his sleep-hungry subconscious that no, she was real, and that no person, regardless of any astonishing imagination, could ever conquer up the sound of her shouting his name at the top of her high-pitched lungs.

"Are you sleeping _again_?" She gave him an accusing glare, putting her hand on her hip, "Jesus Christ, Stark, how lazy can you get?"

"Lilinette, what are you doing here?" was his only intelligent answer to the question.

"Hello to you, too, jackass," but she smiles then and says, "Schools out!"

Stark glanced at his computer screen again. The clock said it was 2:00, a whole hour before school ended (if his memory served him right), and considering the time it must of taken her to get to his workplace it was safe to say she had probably only stuck it out until lunchtime before deciding it was time to blow off the rest of the school-day.

He didn't really care. Getting her to school and her showing up was all that really mattered in his opinion. If Lilinette didn't want to _stay_ there it was her choice.

It was more honest than looking blanking at a blackboard while your head was miles away. But that was just Stark's reasoning.

"HEY! Are you literally dozing off again right in front of me?"

Her indignant yell caused him to rub the side of his head, which was already starting to ache.

"I'm not, I'm not…"

"Yeah right! You get that far-off look on your face and then suddenly you're asleep!"

Stark stares at her for a moment. As much as she apparently hates school, she pulls off her uniform quite well. She ties up her white shirt to reveal the canvas of her stomach and doesn't bother to button up all the way to the collar so that cleavage is generously visible. It's not much because of her near-lack of breasts, but it's the thought that counts. He's also sure that she cut a few inches off her plaid skirt.

School dress-code would never allowed this type of DIY, but Stark pays the board enough for them not to care. He's more concerned about male student body and the sluty girls. Not that Lilinette can't defend herself.

She loves to provoke reaction, though.

Stark's hand twitches slightly, with the urge of an itch he can't scratch.

"Am I really that predictable?" he mumbles, half-aware of his paragraph of thoughts as they began to already leave his mind.

Lilinette gives him a strange look, "What are you talking about?"

Stark sighs. Decides that the leather of his chair makes him sweat to much.

"Nothing," he says, "Wanna go out?"

"Heck-yeah! I'm starving!"

"Yeah?" Stark is already half-way out of his chair and turning off his computer, "Me too…"

He says it like he's so surprised.

"Let's go to that Chinese place! The one that serves my favorite noodles!"

"What's the point of a buffet if all your gonna eat is noodles…?"

Lilinette is bouncing around him as they make their way out of the office. Stark doesn't seem to mind. Her energy gives him enough to gently run his hands over her head.

"Stark! I'm serious, I really want those noodles!"

"We'll get em, just eat other stuff too while we're there…"

"HEY! Don't treat me like I'm some kid!"

"I wasn't!"

"Fucking liar! You're under-talking me right now!"

"I'm just telling you to eat something else - "

"Who made you buffet moderator?!"

"Christ…"

"STARK!"

(xxx)

_Stark…What should we do now?_

_We can do anything._

(xxx)

The city of Las Noches gets its name from a reputation of life that stirs after the sun escapes its sight. It's a wasteland, essentially, to everyone even though it's supposed to be a metropolis. At night you can practically see vast nothingness and fighting to survive is a given when you do happen to cross paths with a living soul.

The streets are bare and the world feels unsafe.

Las Noches is a city of dead men and loneliness.

"Jesus Christ, that stuff was good!"

The minute Stark opens the door to their suite, Lilinette is already inside. She twirls around smiling, without a care in the world and filled with a five-star Chinese buffet.

Stark smiles to himself as he closes the door.

They live in the top floor of an emotionless skyscraper. From the window, the lights of the city are like endless streams of sand against the night sky. Stark feels safe knowing how they have shelter from the addicts and gangs below. As long as their on top, they'll never have to worry.

There are those who question why he lives with a parentless little girl. Given the crap life they both had to live through, Stark simply doesn't give a fuck what they think.

Oh, but they still think they have all the right to stuff their noses in.

Just the other day he crossed paths with Shunsui Kyoraku and Joshiro Ukitake, businessmen of another company.

Kyoraku would always give him a look. As if he _knew_ \- as if he understood everything there was to understand. A smile that looked wonderfully amused yet at the same time it berated him for having such an apparent weakness out in the open.

But what exactly did Kyoraku _know_? Absolutely nothing. His smile was bullshit.

His partner, Ukitake, took a different approach. He separated Stark entirely from the equation and focused solely on Lilinette. The white haired man would reproach her for not showing proper respect to her elders. Of course, Lilinette took that bit of wisdom and acted even more disrespectful just to spite him.

Stark hated them both.

Not because of the judging. Because of the audacity.

They couldn't begin to understand. It was all so complicated.

People gave them looks. Table for two, a grown man and a scantly clad girl. Lilitnette eats like a ravaged wolf and Stark isn't any better at table manners. It's a scene but their too hungry to care.

So they make it back home, where no one can see them and they can act however the hell they want.

"Hey, where's the pack at?" Lilinette looks around before she starts hollering, "HEY! C'mere guys, we're home! C'mere!"

All at once, a pack of dogs come rushing at them from somewhere else in the apartment. They're leaping and barking. Beautiful, white dogs. They gather around Stark and Lilinette. The livelier ones jump to lick Lilinette's face, something she encourages and rubs them for. The ones that are more shy only nuzzle against her and proceed to Stark so he can pet them.

They're strays. Without owners or people to care for them.

Lilinette wanted them. They were driving through one day and she just had to have the little pup sitting on the side of a garbage bin. ("she looks like me," she had said, and that was enough for Stark to feel so miserable that he had to grant her wish ) Since then, Stark was forced into the habit of stopping every time she saw one. No arguments, she just opened the car door and began cooing the lost dog into security.

He didn't mind. He actually picked one or two of them up all by himself and surprised her with them. She was always so happy to see new arrivals.

"You baby them," Stark said as he got up from his crouching position and began herding the pack into the kitchen, "Did we leave out some food before we left?"

"Yeah, yeah…"

"They look hungry."

"I opened a whole bag and spread it over the balcony," she argued back, "I'm sure they ate it all."

Stark half-believed her and decided to open another bag. They always left a bag opened up on the floor so the dogs could just eat whenever they wanted.

"Open the biscuits!" Lilinette called out, "Lupe's pregnant, she needs her vitamins!"

"Where are they?"

"The cabinet!"

"Which one?"

"The big one!"

Instructions given, Stark paid Lupe some extra attention and gave her the biscuits.

They had no collars to tell them apart. Stark just knew which was which.

Admittedly, the dogs were mostly wild because of the lack of discipline. It just didn't seem right to either Stark or Lilinette to try to rule over them.

Crack of a whip wasn't their style.

Stark shook off the feeling coming over him. It was dark and unwanted.

Here at the top of their safe haven which he paid for with blood money and crooked contracts…

"Hey, Stark, you didn't fall asleep, did you?"

No, he hasn't, so he hands out the rest of the food and leaves the pack to have at it.

"I was thinking," Lilinette is saying, "maybe we should install a water bed somewhere, y'know? I'm sure the pack won't burst it open or anything, and it'll be a conversation starter if, you know, we ever actually invite someone over -"

Lilinette stops talking, briefly, as Stark places both of his hands on her waist. Her presses her closely to him, and kisses the top of her head. She lifts her arm and reaches for the base under his chin, grazing him lightly with her fingers.

He can hear her smirk, "What's gotten _you_ all sentimental?"

Stark doesn't answer. Instead, her wraps his arms around her waist. It looks ridiculous because his arms are so long and her waist is so thin. Still, he feels the skin over her ribcage and wonders if he can ever feed her enough to wash away the years they had nothing on their plate.

She's warm against him. Lilinette shifts in his embrace and looks up at him.

"Well? Aren't you going to kiss me?"

He does.

It's been such a long day. And he's tired. And he _needs_ this.

The kiss starts out simple but becomes hungry.

He turns her around and she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him further down. Stark licks the inside of her mouth, already drunk with want of her, and she fists her hand in his hair. Tugging harshly, Lilinette tells him to give more, take more.

They move backwards and fall unto the couch. She's already clawing at his belt and he's ripping away the knot of her shirt. He sees the way her hair is sprawled over the leather cushions and can't get over the fact that he's so tall and she's so tiny but she still _wants_ him.

They're strange looking lovers. They're pieces of a whole that look like they shouldn't go together but they do.

He bites the nape of her neck, and her fingers are tangled into his hair as she moans _"Please, Stark," _so submissively and yet so utterly demanding that it drives him _insane_.

Just the other night she had her dirty way with him, and he wants to return the favor, making her as lost as he is.

Although he knows she can feels his erection poking through his pants, even as he reaches into her panties to stroke her clint, even as she gasps, he likes to feel her wetness and her warmth. It's his way to lessen the guilt and tell him _this is okay because she wants me_.

Lilinette knows what he's doing and roughly kisses his mouth, biting at his lower lip and sucking all the guilt he could ever have. "I want you," she says, growling and hungry, "_Take me_."

Stark complies, pulling himself out only to _bury_ himself into her, their silk movement so perfectly intoxicating that it borders on painful. Lilinette moans, and writhers, and he _pounds_ into her. His tongue dances along her perfect neck and he cups her tender breast and she _grinds_ herself into him.

"Lil…" his breath his hot and hoarse on her ear, "_please_…"

And just like that she bucks her hips upwards, _just_ the way he likes it. _Just_ the way he's fantasized it all day and since the very day he met her. She knows him _so damn well_. "_Stark_…" she groans, arching herself as he takes her hips and pulls her in _so deep _he feels like _drowning_ in her.

In and out and in and out and "_Lilinette_," as he murmurs single words like _perfect_, _beautiful_, and _God damn it_ with every thrust and every breath. Her nails dig into his shoulders as she begins to see stars and shapes and the _moon_ above them. He begs because he loves to feel pathetic and she deserves to be the queen.

Begs with every thrust and every single moan.

The way he has her will leave marks on her hips, and his skin is already bleeding thanks to her nails, and everything is so wrong and so incredibly _right_.

To incredibly _tight_, actually, even as she kisses him, even as he tries to make it soft and nice the way she deserves to be treated. But they're both animals, both wild and savage and in _need_. Romantic to them means giving all and taking all. Clawing at each others manes and rolling their hips in a way that just works.

And he gets rougher while she gets more needy. Each of them desperate with sweat rolling down their lips and salting every kiss. "_Almost_," he says as she opens herself more, gives herself more and he wants this to _perfect_.

Perfect the way she makes him feel. _Complete_. Whole.

"Stark, yes…" it won't ever be really perfect, though, but they can pretend in this castle in the clouds even though they're both wolves, "_Stark_!"

Faster, harder, "_Lilinette!_" and everything she made better about him. He can feel himself reach that point that only she can make him feel. Only she can make him feel anything. No more loneliness, no more sadness. Not when Stark has her to make love to every night.

"_Lili_…" There's friction, he's losing it, and he hits her perfect spot. The one that drives her mad. "_STARK_!" Right _there_. Right where she loves it and loves _him_. Where the moon shines down and everyone howls. Again, and again, and pounding and tearing and finally _bliss_ -

They both go rigid as they reach it. As he marks her with his scent and cum. Knowing very well that he'll kill a man who even thinks of having her the way Stark has her. He feels possessive and irrational but when Lilinette kisses him lightly on the lips - actually pure and un-demanding for once - he knows it's worth being greedy with her.

(xxx)

_Then where should we go?_

_Anywhere._

(xxx)

They flip through the channels on TV until they reach the news.

It's not particularly interesting, but it's something to watch until they fall asleep.

(xxx)

_Let's be together. _

_Until the very end._


End file.
